


Instability

by CompanyMask



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Bottom!Hank, M/M, hankcon - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 17:09:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15539040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CompanyMask/pseuds/CompanyMask
Summary: Hank is sick and while Connor tends to him he realizes he’s a little sick himself in a different regard. (Rated for canontypical language, rating may change for future chapters, takes place after the game).





	Instability

It was irrational. It had to be, and there wasn’t an algorithm in the world that could make sense of it. Coding, programming, sophisticated calculations and formulas…it all paled to the dilemma Connor was conflicted with. Why he was stuck and sinking in such a predicament as thought accidentally walking into quicksand.

His LED cycled yellow as thoughts processed. There was something there that he couldn’t name, couldn’t _categorize_ ; something that was unpredictable and powerful. It was a force that prowled beneath his artificial skin and burrowed past white, hidden plastic casing and swam through the thirium in his system like a microscopic invader. It was something magnetic and hot and seared him from the inside out as though it were fire to paper. A calm, well-practiced hand glided among soft, warm, fuzzy skin. The fuzzy sensation from arm hair dwindled as his hand traveled higher up the arm but Connor’s subtle exploration was halted from his wrist. 

LED once again cycled yellow and Connor froze in place. There was a weak squeeze from the aged hand that rested on his wrist; brown eyes obsessed with natural skin were now focused on the rough knuckles and calloused fingers that managed another weak squeeze. Connor’s eyes traveled up and stared back at experienced blue ones rimmed with a sickly, pale pink. 

“What…what the fuck are you doing, Connor?” Hank rasped with sick induced exhaustion before removing his hand from Connor’s wrist to his mouth to cough. Although Connor couldn’t catch what Hank had it was just fucking manners to cover his mouth. Connor’s head positioned with a slight tilt from the question directed to him and silently observed Hank’s coughing fit. It was an awful sound and Connor’s LED cycled again as he scanned the lieutenant again for updated information of the situation. Clogged and swollen sinus pockets and passage ways; glassy, red eyes; sweat peaking at the collar of his worn t-shirt; pale complexion, distressed voice and evidence of crusts forming at the eyes; diagnosis: Hank was progressively getting worse, Connor deduced to himself. 

“I was just checking your temperature, Hank.” Connor answered matter-a-factly. It wasn’t a complete lie anyway. Connor had noted Hank’s skin was a few degrees higher than usual. Hank rolled his eyes and sighed deep as though breathing were a struggle. 

“That’s usually done from the forehead, genius.” Hank hadn’t meant to be so brash but when he was sick it bought out the worst in him. The unapologetic worst in him that everyone had to deal with but Connor never seemed to flinch away from the harshness of his superior. No, to him all was just another version of standard Hank and at this point accepting his sometimes difficult nature was second nature to him. 

“I know that.” Of course, Connor knew that. He could know anything and that’s what made it so strange that this conversation was a thing to begin with. 

There was silence until Hank released a heavy sigh followed by a hiccup of small coughs and strained breaths. There was silence again. 

“I’m tired, just-find something to do, I’m gonna take a nap.” It wasn’t a question of if Hank would or could, he would just do. He turned over in his bed-back facing Connor-and positioned himself to sleep. If he could, anyway. With a bad cough, sinuses a pain to breathe through and his brain felt three sizes too big for his skull sleep would definitely come at a challenge. Over the counter medicines were doing nothing much for his symptoms at this stage and that wasn’t surprising to him at all. Connor had easily diagnosed the lieutenant with a fever and sinus infection. Although it was nothing serious Hank had proclaimed he felt like he was dying earlier in the week when it hit him fast and hard. Days had passed since then, but nothing had changed except the symptoms getting worse. Connor deduced that this was normal enough, these types of illnesses tended to work themselves out and humans only treated the symptoms so there was no need for immediate concern. Connor had remained vigilant to help Hank recover as soon as possible but during this down time from work or his duties at the precinct it all had left him…conflicted. Now there was too much time for analysis and thought. Not like this was the first time that Connor have had time to himself, but it seemed to be different this time. Everything was different nowadays. For now, it was best to focus on the immediate tasks at hand he had concluded as he left Hank’s bedroom to his nap. 

Mundane tasks like laundry, tending to Sumo, making a light meal that wasn’t condensed, artificial, greasy or overly fattening were all things Connor had grown accustomed to. Not that he did them himself all the time but with Hank down and out he’d do what he could to maintain order. It kept the home functioning and it kept him busy. At times Sumo had been a happy companion during these tasks but tonight he was soundlessly asleep in his own space. Which was fine because Connor was more than preoccupied to enjoy Sumo’s company. He was not made for these things, these household tasks, but this was not important because he found-what’s the word, joy?-doing them. Why? He wasn’t sure. These tasks weren’t fun to do nor offered any form of benefit to himself but there was an indirect. . . emotion that came with helping Hank. Aiding him and prolonging his existence. It was complicated and thinking too much on the why often had him stop mid task to process-LED cycling yellow in conflict. As Connor worked the kitchen knife to chop vegetables and eventually clean chicken for soup Connor’s mind wandered back to the facts of the current situation. 

To conclude: Hank was stubborn. Hank was resistant but most of all; Hank was sick. Connor knew it would have been only a matter of time before it happened. The lieutenant had since halted his drinking after all that happened during the Android Civil Revolution, but he still drank somewhat. He was human, and change wasn’t magical for them. There wasn’t immediate change like when updating or altering an android’s processing system for desired or removal of undesired behavior. It didn’t happen overnight. Hank still drank when his sorrows surfaced to a point of overwhelming and he still drank to “think” on cases. They were working on it. He still stayed up far later than any human, let alone at his age, should and he still ingested a diet that could power a chemical plant with unhealthy, greasy carbs, sugars and fats. Those behaviors mixed with how crazy the weather has been had resulted in the predictable and the inevitable. Connor had also factored in that the duo had just busted a big case of red ice dealers in the area, a month-long case that was linked to Carlos Ortiz’s death prior-and so Hank’s already questionable behaviors only had gotten worse with overnight investigations and mounds of paper work, quick fast food meals and the occasional drink to help quell the thirst Hank had not entirely denied just yet. 

However, unlike most cops who dreaded the time off due to the interference of reaching quotas and trying to crawl up in the ranks when Hank was confronted by his superior, Captain Fowler, to take time off “before the whole damn station was quarantined” Hank graciously accepted. As graciously as a middle aged, cranky man with a growing fever, a bad hang over and cracking nerve from Gavin’s quips pissing him off all morning about how he was half in the grave could accept. Connor had noted that Hank’s moodiness may have also derived from the lieutenant still adapting to being at the station as much as a normal employee should as well, so it was no surprised at all when he took the advantage of his illness to take time off. Connor knew this all too well because it was about that time when things became strange. This…presence that was overwhelming at times. It was something that ignited the first night of Hank’s debilitation and the flames caught fire and gradually began to eat away at Connor’s logic. He _needed_ something he was not quite sure of what it was. Everything had been the same. Everything. To a point of replay after replay yet since Hank had fallen ill a swell of _something_ began to pull Connor into a direction of unexplored territory. He was not sure if the events were at all related but I not it was a helluva coincidence otherwise. 

There were times when he’d just stare at Hank. Nothing prompting the action nor a need to scan for an updated analysis. At first Connor had figured he felt the emotion of concern for the lieutenant since he seemed to struggle with his illness and this had been the first time Connor had seen Hank at his worst, but he learned that wasn’t it. He never worried about Hank. The man was smart, capable and he knew he could trust his anything to him. To Connor the stumbling feet of Hank while intoxicated were more reliable than any other at the precinct or any human he’d known for that matter. That was questionable since humans under the influence were far from that, even when functioning addicts. Still, he just trusted him despite their rocky beginnings. Why was that? Even that was a mystery to him but not so much as what he was dealing with now. That was the first time his processors felt “under attack”, LED red and lagging, as his system struggled with information in his programming since his deviancy. Hank had caught him staring when his system lagged and per usual had a snide remark for it: 

“What the hell is it, Connor? I told you I’m fine, I’m not dead yet. Give me some damn credit.” Connor’s eye ticked before his LED had again cycled blue. By nature, Connor had a quip of his own to return the normalcy. 

“Sorry, Hank, I was just making sure. You hadn’t moved from that spot in the last hour. I was scanning for vitals.” 

“Fuck you.” He replied with a ripping cough afterwards. Sumo was beside Hank’s feet and barked. Hank had rewarded him with a rub behind the ears with his cough-free hand. 

Another strange occurrence had been Connor’s need for touch. Not necessarily to be touched but to want to initiate it. By any inconsequential means. The sensation of feeling things had never been something that important to him before. Not really. Androids hadn’t necessarily needed the sensation. At least not his particular model given the type of work he had been made for. He wasn’t made for sex or housework or anything in the like but there was something there deep in his programming whispering to Connor that patting a shoulder, stolen touch of a cheek at night or standing in close proximity or an ‘accidental’ brushing of arms was a need. The sensation of touch was an afterthought as an RK model built for detective work but his programming-as reliable or unreliable as it was-was convincing him otherwise. That’s what it was, right? Programming? Supposedly androids are not set to not feel pain even if they replicate the reactions of it to stimuli. Even from deviancy programming was still vital to functioning. That hadn’t changed even if the program initially had. Despite this there was something intriguing about having physical contact with the lieutenant. Something Connor categorized as a _need_. This need became stronger and more noticeable to the object that ignited this need: Hank. 

**Author's Note:**

> A part of a DBH fic I’m writing. I want to write more and get better at it and the only way to get better at it is to do it and share. It’s short af right now and not sure when I’m going to finish it (still working on it) but figured I can share it and break it up in chapters. I usually do not write like that, but I think writing DBH is going to be harder for me and no clue why? I did not have a beta reader but in my defense, I proofread until it hurts. I still may have missed things though, sorry in advance ;;; I just hope someone enjoys this and comments are always appreciated. If people do not like where this is going, I'll probably not finish it but idk (this dynamic is rare, and I am still trying to learn to write well enough). I haven't posted in awhile so I just hope someone likes it.
> 
> I was inspired to write this because I want to play with the rare dynamic of bottom!Hank and spycethra‘s Gavin900 sick fic on tumblr (check it out and her work in general, she rocks and has amazing writing skills!); wanted to try the same troupe but with HankCon and a different purpose.


End file.
